by Matt Rogers
Chapter 8: Blight’s Desire
The Siege (Blight’s Encampment)
The Prince was in roaring rage.
“Where is Sergeant Savage?”
“I do not know, Your Highness” hissed the Troll Toodrake in a cower.
Blight was angry, both because his army had been beaten, slaughtered actually, by the Queen’s forces and because the man he held responsible, the mercenary he’d placed in charge of his army was not following orders and appearing as he desired.
“Go and find where he is!”
“Yes, Your Highness” hissed Toodrake again.
The Troll left the command tent in a foul mood. It was his normal demeanor only a bit strengthened because he disliked the Prince, detested Savage and if really pressed would find difficult locating any Human he did not. He was the real power, the one with the knowledge of how to control the beasts, not the Humans. They needed him more than he needed them but he was in a quandary; his Trolls required torment, they reveled in others’ agony and were insatiable in their desire to inflict harm. It did not matter the recipient, only that there was one. His problem, as always, was finding a group large enough to keep his charges satisfied so they would not become preoccupied with internal squabbling and begin plotting ways to end his rule. He had governed the Trolls with an iron fist and provided them with victims to quench their thirst for savagery. As long as they were fighting others they had no time to dwell on his reign. Since Toodrake reveled in power he was somewhat beholden to the Prince because he was always at war with one race which provided Trolls their every desire; Humans.
“Where is Savage?”
“I don’t know, Toad. Why don’t you look where the sun doesn’t shine.”
Toodrake wasn’t certain of the reference but knew an insult when he heard one. He memorized the mercenary’s face, vowed to eat the man slowly if given the chance and walked further in the encampment to search for a man he wished never existed. As he met one negative answer after another he finally arrived at the Elvin clan. He would not enter for to do so meant certain death. Of all the smaller races he liked the Elvin best. He would still eat them, of course, but he would save them till last and savor their deliciousness for they were of similar minds. The Elvin were the most cunning, the cruelest and held ice water in their veins. Their position in the encampment was off limits to almost all save the Prince, other Elvin and, disgustingly to Toodrake’s thinking, Sergeant Savage. He moved to speak with the sentry of their kind.
“The Prince wishes to know the whereabouts of Savage” he hissed in what he believed an acceptable way.
He received silence in response.
“I said the Prince wishes…” he began then abruptly ended when a scimitar appeared out of nowhere in the Elvin’s hand and its tip touched, ever so gently, his abdomen.
“You have no authority here, Troll, leave or die” the silent dealer in death said by way of whisper.
Toodrake was both impressed and angry at the same time. Whenever he met an Elvin he came away wondering why they would ever side with Humans in the first place. They were made to bring death and torture to any who crossed their path. His Trolls were the same. Unfortunately the Elvin didn’t trust his troops. It was probably because a couple of them, from time to time, would see an opportunity and rid others in the army of possessions while a battle was looming. But Toodrake felt that was unfair because they were only taking advantage of a situation ripe for exploitation. He couldn’t grasp why others believed their things would be safe just because they were fighting a war. As he was walking away thinking of roasted Elvin on a turning spit he saw a rather unique sight; two more Elvin carrying a litter with a third of their kind resting upon the makeshift stretcher. Elvin were very rarely seen and they were even rarer seen in the company of another. Whenever he had the opportunity to speak with one it was only that; one. They were the shadow warriors, the ones who could blend into the background so efficiently it was said a victim could be looking directly at them as they split open their midsection and never catch of a glimpse of their executioner. The one on the litter particularly caught his attention for he appeared trampled upon. He thought about hanging around the perimeter to catch an earful of what happened to the assassin but then remembered the feel of Elvin steel on his stomach and changed his mind.
The Orcs were a smelly lot. They were forever rooting around in the dirt and mud for some reason he could never fathom. They themselves had their own leader and it was him Toodrake was making a call upon.
Gronk was a large Orc. His family consisted of enormous sows and boars which kept them in power because, although Orcs worked together in groups to torment others, they were not sociable creatures. In fact, it was said an Orc’s greatest enemy was another Orc. They were constantly fighting amongst themselves, continually insulting and being insulted by those who survived the weaning years. They were the ones who didn’t trust others, wouldn’t turn their backs on their peers, for if they did they would’ve been the recipients of spear-thrusts not the deliverers of the thrusting.
“I need to speak with Gronk” Toodrake hissed to the guard at the Orc’s tent.
“Wait’ was the grunted response so Toodrake stood amongst his species’ oldest rivals while the overgrown pig went to fetch his commander.
Trolls and Orcs had been competitors from the early stages of existence. They both hunted the same smaller races and fought many wars over the millennia. They didn’t hunt each other, at least not as prey, for neither particularly enjoyed the flavor of the other; they were both considered too grisly and greasy. The smaller species were the desired ones, the ones with the right composition of fat and meat to make cooking an agonizing ordeal. The aroma was such they generally ate the meat raw because they couldn’t stomach the wait.
He was finally allowed entrance and met the Orc inside the tent.
“The Prince wants to know where Savage is” Toodrake said gutturally.
“No see since fight” Gronk barked back.
The Troll Toodrake felt something was not quite right with the situation. Gronk appeared to be a bit more angry than normal. Orc’s were always angry, always seeing slights, but as far as Toodrake could remember he hadn’t purposefully insulted the fat mud-wallower in quite some time.
“Why are you taking that tone with me, Orc?”
“Why you send Orc’s to slaughter, Troll?”
And so Toodrake had his answer. The Orcs did, indeed, take a pounding when they moved to cut off General Shield’s escape but it wasn’t his fault; he was merely following orders.
“I did not give the order, Gronk, it was Savage who did. I merely passed along his wishes.”
Toodrake watched as the Orc processed the information. Orcs were notoriously slow replacing one idea with another and it was said a full day could pass if they were given a question with more than two possible answers. The Troll waited as one thought replaced another in Gronk’s limited grey matter.
“Last I see Savage he and barbarian running away from battle” he finally replied.
“They were running away?”
A grunt was the Orc’s reply. Luckily for Toodrake he could tell the difference between a negative and positive grunt so he went further.
“When was this?”
“After his archer no hit.”
“No hit what?”
“No hit one called Hawkeye.”
Toodrake was stunned by the revelation, amazed actually, for a couple of reasons. First, the fact Gronk could remember the name of the legendary scout in the Queen’s army and, second, because he knew the archer the Orc was talking about. He hated Deadaim, wished to see him boil in water with salt and vinegar to complement a meal with roasted Elvin as the appetizer but he also knew one thing with absolute certainty; Deadaim did not miss.
“He missed?”
“Yes, then run away.”
Toodrake was completely perplexed. He despised everything about the mercenaries but had a difficult time grasping
the three would run away. They had never shown the slightest hint of fear since the time the seize started and, since the Trolls had been employed by Blight for several campaigns, Toodrake had the unpleasure of working with Savage’s men in the past. They had never left a battle for they always won.
“Tell me everything you saw” he then demanded.
As Gronk was grunting his description another tale was told at the same time.
“Slicer!”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“You dare call for me! I shall have your head for this insult!”
They were in the Elvin encampment and the Prince, as always, in an unpleasant state.
“I had to, Your Highness, the information we have cannot be moved” the Elvin responded without a waver in his voice.
Prince Blight was always intrigued with the Elvin. He would never admit it aloud but he held a certain respect for the race because they contained the one trait he found most admirable; they did not fear death. They worshipped at her alter and willingly went to her embrace. It didn’t mean he wouldn’t give them the pleasure of fulfilling their wishes but he also saw their usefulness so he decided to relent and hear what the Elvin leader had to say.
“What information?”
“We have an assassin inside.”
The Prince immediately became interested.
“You have one of yours inside?”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“How do you know?”
“Another of ours was there. One who was not successful but saw one who was.”
The Prince followed Slicer as he led through the camp to a tent located in the far rear. They went inside and listened as the Elvin who would soon meet his goddess told them what he witnessed.
“I was in the ground when the gate opened and their forces entered the field. My position was to the left, near the opening but, unfortunately, in the path of a steed. As I waited I saw one of our brethren enter the gate but then I fell unconscious for a hoof hit my head. When I came to I was here.”
The Prince was elated. An Elvin was inside the castle walls. He was taken aback by one thing, though, for he had previous experience working with the Elvin warriors and needed clarification.
“How were you able to see your brethren enter? I thought your stealth was such even your kind could not locate another if he didn’t wish it so?”
The Elvin on the bed, at the edge of death’s door, answered.
“I would have missed his presence altogether if the two who were leaving had not startled his image.”
The answer was cryptic enough to set the Prince’s ire higher.
“What two?” he demanded.
He waited for the dying creature to answer, waited so long he thought maybe the expiration date had passed when the Elvin finally spoke.
“There were two Midglings who fled when the Queen’s army attacked.”
Blight was of two minds. One, he was angry a pair of Mother Nature’s creatures had managed to escape but since they were Midglings he relegated it as two cowards who saw an opportunity and ran with it. Second, he was overcome with what the dying Elvin related; an assassin was inside. The Elvin were nothing if not fanatical in their craft. With one inside he knew victory was at hand. It might take a day, maybe a week, but one thing was already a foregone conclusion; with an Elvin in the castle the Queen’s reign would soon end.